Alex Hayden's Journal of Ultimate Coolness
by mrasaki
Summary: In which tv sets are broken and sex is had. Probably the world's smallest fandom ever, but SO much fun to write. -Alex Hayden/Taskmaster-


**Alex Hayden's Journal of Ultimate Coolness**

Rating: NC-17. Extremely. And yeah, lots of swearing.

Fandom: Mostly Agent X series (post), lots of spill-over into C&D

Pairing: Taskmaster/Agent X (Alex Hayden)

Takes place somewhere in earlyish to mid-late C&D. Some knowledge of M-Day/Civil War is helpful. Some fudging of timelines done, see if you can spot it.

No spoilers.

However, I would highly recommend that you read Deadpool #67-69, ESPECIALLY the Agent X series and certain bits in Cable and Deadpool (C&D #11-12, 38-39, 49-50) to get to know Taskmaster and Hayden because they are probably some of the coolest characters to ever come out of a spinoff series. Short of Deadpool himself, of course.

Also: I don't think it was very clear, but at the end of Agent X apparently Sandi got back together w/ TM, and Outlaw supposedly w/ Hayden. Or at least that seems to be the internet consensus. I'm not very happy with it (liked Hayden/Sandi), but I'm going with it.

And: The Taskmaster here is the TM revamped by UDON, not that wacked piratical version of him that's more usual outside of the DP/Agent X/TM/C&D series.

Disclaimer: This is what I did instead of typing very important term papers. So very productive, but so _not_. Sigh.

******************

_August 18._

So _bored_. Outlaw's run off to the X-Men saying she's gotta go figure things out for herself, after 'that day'. I hadn't even known she was a mutant. Maybe the 'crazy' part of 'Crazy Inez' shoulda tipped me off. What the hell is her power anyway? Forgot to ask.

Mental note: Remember to ask next time I see her. Hard to concentrate with two...big...distractions... bouncing right in front of me.

Bored.

Business is...okay. Agency X is starting to pick up. I've graduated from monkey herding and panty thievery to offing a baby alien that looked like a prop for _Aliens 3._ It didn't go too well. The pancreas doesn't really fit quite right anymore.

Will punch the next person who makes a crack about eating it with some fava beans and a nice chianti.

Good news: Sandi's broken up with Taskmaster again. Said something to me about him loving the mask more than he loves her, and not trusting her after all this time, and why is she even talking about this to me? I told her that there's something wrong with a guy who goes by a name like 'Taskmaster' -- real pervo, loves the stabby too much -- and she left a real dent in my man essence. Real fast for a girl who's not a merc. Maybe she's a mutant? Special power: knee-ing men in places that no man should be kneed. (knee-ed?)

Good thing I have artifically enhanced healing, otherwise I'da been singing alto for _weeks_.

_August 25_

Taskmaster really really SUCKS. Broke into my place and trashed all my opera and classical cds. Said it was revenge for me breaking into his place and melting his Spice Girls with battery acid.

Pshh, he can't prove anything.

The guy has a thing for Spice Girls and Deadpool underoos. Don't. Want. To. Know.

Dude never even took off the mask the whole time we were surfing off Australia. The man's got issues.

And SUCKS GIANT DONKEY DONG!!!

_September 1_

Just got back from a standard mission, just knocking off a mark. Got my finger and ear shot off, but otherwise no problemo-amundo. I _hate_ growing stuff back, it feels all stretchy and tickly and itchy and it hurts like crazy. Plus, it's really gross to see parts of you twitching in the dust that aren't attached anymore.

Don't know how Wilson does it all the time, but then being crazier than a treeful of monkeys (monkies?) probably helps.

Found TM mooning around the office. Had to tell him Sandi was taking some personal days, and she didn't want to see him.

What is with people and trying to damage my giblets?!

If a man has nothing else in the world, at least he still has his pride. And his manly parts. And there's not much pride in being a eunuch, I'm tellin ya.

Well, I dislocated his shoulder in return so no hard feelings.

_September 10_

Got a call from Outlaw. Says she's staying out of trouble.

From what I'm seeing on the news, she looks like she's doing a fantastic job of getting _into_ it.

I told her to have fun and not get killed.

Bored.

Real boring, all the girls are off somewhere.

Deadpool's friend Weasel's little invention has made going into the bathroom a bit hazardous. I called 'pool to come and take it back to his place and he asked me if I wanted some cheese with my whine. I told him in some detail where he could shove it and he laughed maniacally, said, "You, me, some Gouda cheese and some lube, baby," and hung up.

GAAAAH. No wonder some people dedicate most of their time to blowing his brains out. Sandi says he's charming, caring, and sexy. Outlaw says he has a nice ass and a good sense of humor.

Girls have no taste at all.

TM agrees. I think it's the only thing we agree on. But then he added that the girls apparently liking me too makes him lose faith in the justice of the world, so we wound up breaking the company tv set. And I got stabbed, again. AGAIN. Winged him with a bullet though, so we're even.

I told him he should go see a shrink for that propensity for stabbing. He just snorted and bled on the carpet. Told me that using big words like that around Wilson would probably get me stabbed (again), and wasn't I lucky to be hanging with such an erudite guy like himself? Sarcasm meter off the scales.

Pussy.

_September 18_

Found TM in my apartment again. Doesn't he have a _job_?

Said he was just borrowing my cable for the WWE.

For all that he pretends to be cultured and likes to spout Milton and Byron and all sorts of useless poshy trash, he really has no taste. And he spends all his time watching tv!

The guy drives sleek cars that cost a hundred grand and that have names no normal schmoe has ever heard of, lives in a swanky condo in the posh part of NYC, routinely steals cutting-edge tech from Stark Labs and SHIELD, and he can't afford some digital cable?

Well, I didn't want _my_ tv broke, so I kept my yap shut.

He was drinking beer out of a straw, the long twisty novelty kind that kids get out of cereal boxes. Guess a straw makes life in a metal skull mask easier.

Pussy.

I waited for him to ask about Sandi. He didn't.

Doesn't matter, though. Sandi told me the other day that she wants to try living her life alone for a bit. Which is girl-speak for 'looking for other fish in the sea, tried you already and didn't like the flavor, but wait around!'

...Right.

I guess she told TM the same thing too.

She's a sweetheart with a smokin' body which means that we'll stick around like suckers anyway and beat up whatever useless boyfriend she has next.

Can't help it, I guess...for all that she associates with mercs, she's so innocent and sweet that it's hard to stay away from her, like she's untouched by the grime of mercenary life. Not like I'm making her out to be the Virgin Mary or anything -- the girl's kinkier than a twisted chain -- but she's got something. Can't put a finger on it.

_September 24_

Saw Deadpool today.

I don't care if it's just residual memories, whenever I see him I want to kick his head off and use it like a soccer ball.

But we weren't on conflicting missions or anything. In fact, we were in the supermarket.

He was buying Mountainy Due and chips, how bizarrely plebian of him.

Buuut...eh, I'd been sent there for tampons, since TM always makes himself scarce during Sandi's period, even back when they were dating. Pussy.

It seems that lately Wilson's developed a conscience about gratuitously shooting up civilians and corporate property. And paying for chips.

And... I guess I have too. Damn that Black Swan --er, Nijo!

But we got our points across. Had a major fruit fight.

That's right, a fruit fight. Managed to stuff tangerines down his throat and choke him to death. Still not as satisfying as shooting him in the head, but HA! Death by orange!

Tell ME to have some cheese with my whine, Mr. I Am A Confused Homicidal Maniac Please Feed Me?!

Still picking banana out of cracks I didn't even know I had.

_September...fuck, I don't remember_

Ouch, ow, OUCH!

Okay, tonight's mission went just a _little_ awry. Had a mutant throwing fireballs at me -- I thought they'd all been wiped out?! -- cuz how was I supposed to know she was so choice on that chihuahua?!

Stupid ex-husband left the mutie powers out when he hired me! Oh, decided right then and there that I was _so_ charging him double if I got out of there without looking like Kentucky Fried barbeque.

And apparently she didn't care if the dog -- rat -- er, dog, got burned to a crisp with me, she just cared that the ex didn't get the flippin' dog _either_.

I think I might put in a new clause in the Agency X contracts: No divorce proceedings. Nuh uh. After the Fight Man thing? Well, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.

The car I was hiding behind was starting to get a little toasty, so I looked around. Hard to do, what with the little rat dog hanging with all his vicious little might off the meaty part of my armpit, but I did, and what did I see? A fire extinguisher!

Clocked the chick upside the head with it, and that was that.

Delivered the dog, got the money (had to break a few fingers, but he agreed the new price was plenty reasonable in the end), got the hell out of there, and...TM was waiting for me outside by a sleek-looking _expensive_-looking -- he's gotta be overcompensating for something, he's gotta -- sports car I don't even know the name to, looking smug.

Don't ask me how the arrogant bastard can look smug with a skull mask on, but he can.

Maybe it's a mutant power.

Turns out he sent the mission my way knowing how wacked out it'd be, just for shits and giggles. Very funny, just like the 'let's send Alex against the Punisher! for shits and giggles!' thing.

So we got into a fight and HA! I scratched the car!

After some more punches and property damage and some cops running around shouting, we got tired and found a bar.

Same ol' tired rant from TM, same ol' "I like Deadpool okay but you're just a second-rate Martha Stewart-loving wannabe clone who got all the worst bits" etc etc, all the time sucking down beer with that stupid mask pulled to one side. Looked even stupider than usual because underneath the mask he's got this black cowl thing covering his whole face so it looked like he's pouring beer into a black hole -- the outer space kind.

I called him a pussy Avengers fanboy and I brought up his Captain America jammies and speculated what he does in them. He broke my nose, I sprained his rib, and we were rolling around, shattering glasses and spraying beer and blood all over and then we were kissing.

Right: WHAT?? You'd think it'd be weird kissing a guy whose skull face had been pulled off and tossed somewhere and it was basically just the cowl left -- black merino wool and probably expensive, the pansy -- but it really wasn't because it was really hot and wet and actually rather violent, since it felt like he was actively trying to bite my lips off and I was trying to pull his tongue out with my teeth.

Then he was up and off and out the door and then I was left with the tab and a pretty pissed off bartender, who handed me TM's mask and told me in no uncertain terms to get out. Damn Black Swan for giving me back my sense of honor so I couldn't just set fire to the place, but I did leave a bullet in the guy's leg as a souvenir.

I caught up to him just as he was pulling out of the parking lot, and that just wasn't gonna fly cuz he was my ride -- in more ways than one, heh heh. Plus, _my_ car got blowed up in stage one of Operation Rescue Chihuahua, and whose fault was that? So I took a flying leap and landed on top of the car. Cool shit, just like James Bond, except Bond villains were never cheap enough to slam on the brakes, send him flying over the hood, and then proceed to run him over.

That's like, Deadpool cheap.

But after both sets of tires went over me -- bump, bump -- the car stopped, waiting.

I dragged myself up -- I think I had a tread mark on my _ass_ -- and hey, the door was open so I fell in.

I informed him of my assessment of his level of cheap, and he wanted to know if I wanted to walk back or what? So I kept my yap shut until we got back to Agency X and in the meantime tried to realign my bones as much as possible.

I was wondering if I would have to proposition him outright -- again, should be weird propositioning someone currently without a face, someone who just ran me over with a sexy penis car and enjoyed it _way_ too much, but it wasn't -- but when we got there he got out of the car too.

Score!

He noticed the grin on my face and told me not to get cocky. I said haha, you said 'cocky' and then he rolled his eyes (don't ask me how I can tell) and muttered something about getting too much of _that_ from Wilson.

The couch in Agency X is big and wide and plushy, picked out by the girls. It's already been test-driven and broken in by all of us, though I'm sure we all try not to think about what kinky things the other combinations have been up to on it.

Point is, it's solid and wide and soft, so when we basically fell onto it it only creaked a little, and we were back to trying to rip into each other's mouths and that was just hot, though I'd imagine that was scarier for TM since he's not the one who can grow back missing parts. But he gave as good as I've got and when I dragged my lips over his face -- the cowl was seriously going to get annoying in about five seconds -- and seized his ear under the cloth in my teeth, he only gave me a hiss and a low growl and got busy trying to get my shirt off. He tore it a little bit, but I didn't really care because it used to be his, mwahaha. He'd never said anything about it before so I assume he doesn't care -- or maybe he's had words with Sandi about it, but whatever, possession is like nine-tenths of the law, finders-keepers, and all that.

He slapped my own hands away from his shirt and it turned into a brawl, half arm-wrestling, fighting for tops. I lost that one -- he always was better with the really-close-quarters hand-to-hand combat -- and he pinned one hand down as he went for my fly and stuck the other gloved hand into my pants.

Oh yeah, I love the direct approach. I closed my eyes and breathed as he cupped me roughly and pushed my pants down a little more for better access, and I don't know how I know half the things I know, being the amalgam of three separate personalities and memories in one dead body (long story), but I could tell that couldn't be his first time. Either he's been watching some gay porno that Sandi hasn't told me about -- which means he's had Batman-level prep time -- or he's done that before. I couldn't think on it more as his grip turned rougher and he added a twist to his hand --_ fuck_ -- that made me squirm and babble that I took back all the stuff I'd ever said about him, including the time I'd told Wade that he collected My Little Ponys and brushed their manes in his spare time --

That earned me both elbows in the stomach as he pulled off his leather gloves -- finicky pansy -- and dragged one callused thumb over the tip of my dick and smeared the pre-come around, taking a little of the rough chafing edge off each stroke. I twisted my hips into each up and down and cursed him a little -- the asshole's a little too smug and _way_ too composed and _way_ too in-control for what we're doing.

Being passive was never my thing, anyway.

I twisted my arm out of his grip and dug my thumb into the pressure point just below his bicep and he let out an undignified yelp. I flipped him over and dug my dick into his thigh, smearing pre-come around and getting his pants dirty. Served the smug bastard right.

I reached up under his shirt and stopped. Was he serious? A bullet-proof vest? What else was he wearing, a cup? I reached down to verify and he grabbed my wrist just as my fingers closed around -- no, no cup -- just a hard length, erect and straining against the thick material of his pants.

But seriously, a vest?

He wanted to know, testily, if I had a problem since not _everyone _is gifted with a thoroughly overpowered cheap healing factor and fuck you anyways.

What I wanted to know was, what's he going to do if he ever gets shot in the crotch? He told me to shut up.

The shirt and vest went flying and I leaned down to pull at the small nipples but then he yanked me up with a heavy hand on the back of my neck into another long, tearing kiss. I breathed into his mouth with panting huffs as his hand found its way back down into my crotch and then -- christ -- I'm thrusting against his thigh, his hand trapped in between, and his other hand fumbling at his own fly. I covered his hand with mine and the damn zipper wouldn't move, so finally he pushed me off and pulled it down himself with a rough yank and pushed at his pants so they slipped down a bit before he slid over to loom over me.

Fuck it, I still wasn't going to just lie there on my back -- so I started to move around, when he told me to just hold still for fuck's sake if we ever wanted to get anywhere. He rolled his hips against mine to punctuate the point and I quit squirming. I'm no nancy-boy bottom, but -- _fuck_ -- there're no words to describe how sinful that felt, the slick raw rub of hardness and skin moving together, trapped between our bodies, and yes, I spread my legs and thrust up and he groaned as I slipped my hands up and gripped his sweaty hair underneath the cowl hard enough to hurt.

By then the cowl had ridden up enough so I could see his chin, starkly pale against the black and he pushed it up to his nose so his mouth was exposed and -- okay, that was just hot, and I wondered if Sandi's ever seen this much of his face. But I didn't get to look at it long -- but what I did see was perfectly shaped, not deformed like the girls had figured, Outlaw _so_ owes me fifty bucks now -- because he leaned down again and I panted my frustration in between long hard swipes of his tongue and it was definitely much better without cloth in the way.

And then the rubbing thing was fantastic, but was getting real aggravating by the second because it wasn't enough and the heavy-duty zippers were starting to dig into sensitive places. I yanked his hair hard enough to jerk his head back and got a curse out of him, and yup, that sure got his attention.

He pulled back -- hell, we hadn't even gotten our pants off yet -- and wanted to know what the fuck I wanted him to do, you impatient butt-munch prick. Seriously, how old was he, twelve?

I just panted some more and moved so my dick waggled all friendly-like in his direction. He shook his head in disgust -- I could tell cuz I could see his mouth turn downward -- but he seemed to get the idea, shoving me back down again and leaning down to eye-level with my cock, but didn't touch it yet, only smiling grimly as I cursed him for being a cocktease.

After he'd driven me out of my mind long enough -- and I clonked him hard on the side of the head with my knee -- he ran his tongue up the underside of my cock and swirled his tongue hard around the head and sucked lightly with just the _barest_ dangerous touch of teeth, and just like that -- oh _god_ – I was coming, hands tightening and rumpling the cowl and shaking, shaking all over, coming all over my belly because TM of course wasn't nice enough to swallow.

He was looking smug again, though I couldn't scrape my brain cells together enough to be indignant about it. And I said nothing because the only thing I could think to say was that he's better at sucking cock than Sandi _or_ Outlaw, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't take that as a compliment.

He untangled my hands from the cowl and smoothed it back down over his face -- too bad I didn't get to see anything else, but I hadn't exactly been paying attention -- but gave in to my tugging and came up to press a hard bite into my collarbone, only acidly remarking that he hoped I wasn't the cuddling type.

Well, not with men anyway, who don't have nice squishy bits to cuddle _with_, and he'd better be nice if he wanted me to help a fellow out with the hardness pressing insistently into my hip and was that a gun, or was he just happy to see me?

He smacked me upside the head for that and another scuffle ensued, the end result being that we both fell off the couch onto the cold linoleum floor and then he managed to get on top, straddling my chest, and I had his cock in my hand. He got very still, since there's no other more powerful position in the world than the one where you're holding a man's family jewels in a grip that means that he'll lose something valuable if he makes any sudden moves.

But I wasn't going to be mean like that -- not just then, at any rate -- so I pushed him back until he was sitting on the floor, leaned up against the couch with his pants pushed all the way down. I peeled the cowl back up to nose-level, then I crouched between his knees and sucked his tongue into my mouth all porno-dirty and messy while I jacked him off slowly, the other hand playing with his sac, rolling his nuts through my fingers in tandem with each stroke.

He held out, no loud noises like he had to prove something, but each soft, bitten-off sound was like a victory. Slowly he began to lift his hips to meet my hands, his ungloved hands pressed so hard against the floor that his nailbeds and knuckles were white. Take that, teacher, school's _out_. One hand lifted and curled around my head and -- that grip hurt, actually.

In return I sped up and he made an involuntary groan into my mouth and his teeth clamped down on my lip -- ow, blood -- and then I slipped the fingers of the hand playing with his sac down, down, and slid the tip of the middle finger over and into the tight pucker I found there. He convulsed, come spurting over my fist like it's been knocked out of him and he swore, which came out more like a half-scream with his teeth embedded in my lip. Hurt like motherfuck and being so close up and the cowl in the way seriously sucked all the fun out of watching his expression, but hey, it was still satisfying to see him lose total control.

I pulled back a little bit as soon as he let go of my lip -- I think I tasted blood -- and rubbed the come over his belly -- more petting, like. I know I had a smirk on my face. Served the smug bastard right, who was still shuddering and sucking in heavy breaths and his head was thrown against the couch like it was too heavy to lift. Ha, showed _him._

Finally he got enough control of himself to get off the floor, tucking himself back in. He pointed a threatening finger at me and told me I'd better not try that again.

What, there's going to be another time?

He didn't deign to answer that and headed for the bathroom instead, only staggering a bit as he stood before he caught himself and glared around at me as if daring me to say something. I would have, but I was too relaxed to really aggravate him good.

I wondered if I should warn him about Weasel and Deadpool's homicidal cleaning Tickle Me Elmo in there.

Nah.

_October 2_

If this were some sort of romantical story written by some chick to get her rocks off, this is where I'd write about how I plumbed the deeps of my heart and realized my undying love for Taskmaster.

But it's not, so he's still a really annoying, arrogant bastard who likes stabbing people -- namely, me. And not in the fun way, either.

Sure, mind-blowing sex, always good to get where you can. No strings attached? Huge plus. Not sure it'll ever happen again -- if it did, it could get weird in the relationship question sort of way, and who the hell wants that?

Besides, who doesn't love boobs?

Deadpool, that's who! HA HA HA! You get it? Cable?? Huh???

Never mind.

...

Aw, man, now I feel guilty about that joke. Damn Nijo. A sense of honor sucks all the fun right out of life.

_October 9_

TM STABBED ME! Again! Right in the ribs, too. It always hurts just that little extra special pain when you need to regrow your gallbladder. Makes everything taste like bile for a couple days after.

Note: must work on dodging skills.

Didn't manage to shoot him this time. He must be getting better at dodging _me_.

He even said, 'You have much to learn, young padawan." Even did it in a Vader voice.

WHAT.

Only I make with the Star Wars cracks! And he didn't even get it right!

And then he called me a donut-eating closet nerd. And then he called me a Trekkie.

_It's not even Star Trek, you stupid Marv Albert-loving twat!_

He just smirked at me -- again, with the masked smirk -- and said I'd just proven his point.

Hate him, absolute hate.

Wilson called up and told me his friend Weasel keeps asking about his toy. I haven't the heart to tell him that it's finally kicked off into the big Toys R Us in the sky. Sure it was cute, but it'd lopped off my _toe_.

_October 21_

New mission! Going off to HYDRA base to steal some sort of scientific gadget, a 'morphogenic actuator'. Sounds sexy.

Pays big, I get to beat on wussy HYDRA agents, _and _I get to blow things up. Huge improvement on chasing monkeys (monkies?), underwear-stealing hedonists, and rescuing rat-dogs.

Things are on the up-and-up for Agency X!

Talked to Outlaw again today. She'll be coming back soon, so I guess she's done causing a big mutant ruckus. She says that TM and I should just tongue-kiss and get the holy hell over ourselves cuz she and Sandi are tired of us constantly stabbing and shooting each other.

Uh.


End file.
